Archive of Our Own

Neil’s teeth knock against Andrew’s bottom lip, overly eager as Andrew’s fingers weave through damp, sandy curls. If Neil were in his human form, his strong thighs would be bracketing Andrew’s waist, knees digging against Andrew’s side, pressing their bodies flush together. 

Neil always seems to crave Andrew’s touch. Always wants more more more. 

But for now, Neil is in his merfolk form, and he wiggles closer, his tail smooth on Andrew’s warm thighs, already halfway to a sunburn. Andrew takes a few seconds to appreciate the dichotomy of Neil’s body against his: heated skin, cool scales, and everything all at once. A few seconds to savor it, then Andrew tilts his head and deepens the kiss, ignoring the grainy sand sticking to his back and neck.

He had forgotten to pack a beach towel in his bag this morning, but he isn’t complaining. As long as Neil is pressed against him, he’ll endure all the damn sand making its way beneath his pants. 

It’s been a few months since their first kiss, since Neil had gifted Andrew the obsidian ring he made himself and told Andrew that he was courting him, that he wants to stay with Andrew for as long as he can. A few months since Andrew acknowledged the extent of his own feelings for Neil, his heart fixed so completely, it would be an exercise in uselessness to try to twist away from the truth.

They’ve been kissing pretty much every day since then, and Andrew has come to the conclusion that he really likes kissing Neil, could probably spend the rest of his life kissing Neil. 

Andrew’s eyes are half-closed, but from this distance, he can still make out the blur of Neil’s long eyelashes, the beautiful blue of his irises at close range. He can feel the curve of Neil’s smile against his mouth, can feel Neil’s pleased hum vibrating against his chest, wants to swallow the tiny giggle that erupts from Neil’s pretty pink lips. 

“What?” Andrew murmurs. 

“Mmm, nothing,” Neil says, leaning back to get a good look at Andrew before peppering the side of his mouth with tiny pecks. “I missed you.” 

“You saw me yesterday.”

“Yeah, but that was like, a full twenty-four hours ago.” 

Andrew quirks a brow and Neil laughs, bright and clear, before knocking their foreheads together. Sand rains down from his curls, landing on Andrew’s cheeks. Gently, Neil blows the grains away, his breath warm against Andrew’s skin, before pressing their lips back together. 

Sometimes, Andrew forgets that he’s Neil’s first and only kiss, because how is Neil so good at this? He seems to have an insatiable need to put his tongue in Andrew’s mouth at every possible second, and the feeling is mutual. 

Neil presses his nose against Andrew’s cheek and their kiss deepens, opens up—hot and wet and probably one step away from public indecency, but Andrew doesn’t fucking care. No one is around anyway. He especially doesn’t care if this is what Neil wants, if this is how he likes to be kissed.

There’s a bit of sand in Andrew’s mouth, but the slide of Neil’s tongue is borderline indecent, and Neil’s hands are warm against his sternum as he presses closer, like he’s trying to crawl into Andrew’s chest. In return, Andrew hefts him closer with a hand against the small of his back. 

Andrew feels himself getting lightheaded, and he curses his very human lungs for having to pull away before he passes out from oxygen deprivation. He’s giving Neil one last peck when he senses a new presence, a subtle movement beside them.

They are not alone. 

Andrew is immediately on high alert, his body tensing, arm wrapping protectively around Neil’s waist. Neil clocks Andrew’s change in body language and lets out a concerned hum, his swishing tail stilling behind him. 

Another shift of sand. 

Andrew’s eyes snap to the side, and his vision is suddenly filled with green as another pair of unfamiliar eyes stare back at him. 

Andrew reacts on instinct. He lashes an arm out. His knuckles meet the intruder’s throat.

There’s a pitiful choking sound, and Andrew relishes the fact that he probably hit this stranger straight in the esophagus (Renee would be proud of his aim) when he hears Neil call out, “Kevin?”

Kevin?

Andrew pushes up with an elbow, still on guard, his other arm wrapped securely around Neil. The incapacitated merman is on the ground, pathetically sucking air back into his lungs, wheezing and spitting up a storm.

Dramatic—Andrew barely used half of his strength. 

Kevin rocks back, swearing viciously, and Andrew uses this time to observe Neil’s apparent first friend, finally putting a face to the name that Neil has mentioned so many times before. 

The first thing Andrew noticed was Kevin’s eyes, too close to his face just seconds prior; his irises a bright green, a perfect match to the deep emerald of his long, elegant tail. The artist in Andrew admires how the rich green of Kevin’s scales and Neil’s turquoise look side by side, a beautiful gradient.  

Like Neil, Kevin has missing patches of scales scattered along the length of his tail, courtesy of those piece of shit poachers Neil had mentioned, though the damage is less noticeable. 

It’s clear the poachers treated Kevin far more gently than they did Neil. 

It’s not Kevin’s fault, but knowing this doesn’t stop the way anger starts to boil low inside of Andrew—anger that there are people out there who have hurt Neil, who have spilled his blood and left irreparable damage. It crawls up Andrew’s spine. The feel of Neil’s fingers tightening against his arm staunches it from spreading further. 

The second Kevin gulps enough air back into his lungs, he immediately scrambles behind Neil, using him as a shield, which is ridiculous, since Kevin is nearly two heads taller than Neil and Andrew. Andrew stays where he is, completely impervious to the death glares Kevin is currently shooting at him over Neil’s head. 

“Ow, what the fuck,” Kevin spits, struggling to push the words out of his now bruised throat. Andrew slowly unwraps his arm from around Neil’s waist, pushing off his elbows to sit up straight, and Kevin takes it as a threat, scrambling backwards, his tail flicking sand all over the place. Once again, dramatic. “Neil, call off your mate!” 

Oh. 

Andrew blinks. This is the first time anyone has called him that.  

Mate.

Neil’s mate. 

The words slipped so easily off Kevin’s tongue that it stuns Andrew. It sounds correct, like an inherent truth. Andrew decides he likes the sound of it, and he has no idea what to do with that information. 

He feels Neil freeze against his side. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Neil’s cheeks visibly heat, turning a pretty shade of pink that Andrew is unfortunately utterly enamored with. 

“He’s not my mate,” Neil snaps, facing Kevin. He trails off, licks his lips. His voice fades into a quiet mumble. “At least not officially…not yet.”

The way Neil says those words doesn’t sound like they come from a place of disgust. It’s simply stated as a fact, but it still feels like a kick to the teeth. Andrew keeps his face carefully blank.

Not yet.

Kevin’s face warps into an expression of pure incredulity. “You’re not mates and you’re kissing like that?” 

Neil smacks his tail fin against Kevin’s face with a wet thwack. “We’re still courting.” 

Andrew swallows the sudden dryness in his throat as Kevin sputters, spewing insults at Neil that Neil easily ignores, speaking to their years of familiarity. 

Being human, Andrew isn’t familiar with the whole merfolk courting process. He didn’t even know courting was a thing merfolk did until he met Neil, and Neil somehow decided that, despite all the fish in the sea, Andrew was who he wanted. 

Andrew doesn’t know how long courting is supposed to last, doesn’t have a single clue about what comes next after a successful merfolk courtship. He never felt the need to ask Neil. 

The self-sabotaging, pessimistic part of Andrew always assumed that this thing with Neil wouldn’t last, that Neil would realize that Andrew is a boring, pathetic human, that it’s too much trouble spending all this time on dry land when he has entire seas at his disposal—endless, glittering expanses of blue. 

But it’s been nearly a year, and Neil doesn’t seem keen on leaving. 

Neil still brings Andrew little trinkets he finds on the ocean floor. Andrew’s human anatomy means they can’t rub gills, but they spend a lot of time with their mouths pressed together to make up for it. 

Neil lights up like the fucking sun whenever he sees Andrew and it always leaves Andrew feeling disgustingly smug, so much so that he has to willfully keep it off his face.

Neil wants him, wants him all the time. Doesn’t want anyone else but him. 

But now, he can’t help but wonder: what officially makes him Neil’s mate?

By the time Kevin finishes his tirade, Neil has pressed himself back against Andrew’s side, practically scooting into Andrew’s lap, his cool tail coiled around Andrew’s left leg. 

“Anyway, Andrew, this is my friend Kevin, whom I’ve told you about before. Kevin, this is Andrew, my human, the one I’ve been courting.” 

My human. Andrew’s heart thumps wildly in his chest. He keeps his expression set. 

“Andrew,” Kevin says slowly, his gaze scrutinizing as he eyes the way Neil has wrapped himself around Andrew. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Andrew nods slowly. He spies Neil’s cheeks heating up again, feels Neil watching him, gaze a physical weight on the side of his face. “And I’ve heard a lot about you. Nothing good.” 

Kevin scoffs, affronted, and Andrew decides he’s done with this conversation. He came here to spend time with Neil, not to get assessed by his merfolk boyfriend’s irritating friend sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. 

Andrew slumps back down against the sand, slipping his sunglasses on while Kevin fumes, muttering under his breath about stupid humans and their awful manners before giving Andrew one last displeased flick of his tail and diving back into the waves. 

At last, it’s just Andrew and Neil on the beach. 

Neil rests against Andrew’s chest, looks at him with a steady, even gaze that doesn’t reveal what he’s thinking. “Are you okay? Are you mad?”

Andrew lets his hand settle at the base of Neil’s spine. Neil wriggles closer at the touch. “Why would I be mad?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe about what Kevin said?”

Call off your mate. 

“I am fine.” 

Neil tilts his head to the side. Andrew is good at hiding things from people when he wants to, unseen omissions and the quiet spaces in between—emotions and thoughts he holds back and doesn’t let slip onto his face or through his lips. But Neil can always see through him.

He can probably tell that Andrew is itching for answers, but he doesn’t push it because he knows Andrew, trusts that Andrew will bring it up when the time is right. He nods. “Okay.” 

Andrew shifts and presses an absent kiss to Neil’s forehead as a silent thank you. He wants to kiss Neil again, maybe run his tongue behind Neil’s teeth. Kiss the worries right out of Neil’s mouth. 

So he does. 

Kissing Neil always makes Andrew feel like that first step out into the salty air after sitting in his gallery all day; warmth all the way through and all the way down. 

Things are good. This is a fact, a truth. Neil’s kisses solidify that.

“Sorry about Kevin. I told you he’s an asshole,” Neil murmurs against his mouth, and Andrew simply shrugs.

“I am done talking about Kevin.”

What Andrew doesn’t say is: if he never has to see Kevin’s face again, it will be too soon.

*

Neil transforms into his human form and stays overnight at Andrew’s apartment at least twice a week, usually more. The days Neil sleeps in his bed are undeniably Andrew’s favorite days, not that he’s ever admitted this out loud. 

But Renee is Renee, and unfortunately, she can read Andrew almost as well as Neil can.

“Is Neil staying the night?” she asks when she stops by the gallery during Andrew’s lunch break, holding a brown paper take-out bag in her left hand, a pastel pink tote bag in her right. 

Andrew narrows his eyes. He’s always been known for his apathy, for his blank facades and hard-to-read facial expressions. It shouldn’t be this easy for Renee to figure out that he’s terribly fucking giddy about seeing Neil tonight.

Renee tucks her chin against her chest in a poor attempt at hiding a laugh and holds up the take-out bag as a peace offering. “Mediterranean food from that place you like down the street.” She sets the pink tote bag on Andrew’s desk. “And some apples from the farmer’s market for your merman.”  

Andrew doesn’t react, not even a twitch of a muscle, which, while not out of the ordinary, feels extremely telling. He's long since given up on telling Renee to stop calling Neil your merman. It’s not like it’s a lie, after all. 

Pushing off his stool, Andrew heads towards the sink that lines the back wall and washes the paint off his hands. 

It’s easy to hide under the cover that these “sleepovers” are a way for Neil to get used to being on dry land, to practice walking on his own two feet. Really, it’s an excuse to spend more time with each other, hidden away in Andrew’s tiny apartment, where it’s quieter, peaceful. Private. 

It feels like they’re playing house, just the two of them.

Later that evening, Andrew is rummaging through his refrigerator when Neil comes shuffling into the kitchen in a pair of Andrew’s plaid pajama pants and an oversized band t-shirt that hangs off his shoulders. 

Neil has his own clothes now: a handful of soft t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, and a few pairs of shorts that show off the expanse of his muscled thighs and make Andrew want to punch a hole straight through the drywall. But even so, Neil still has a preference for Andrew’s clothing. 

“I like that it smells like you,” Neil had said once, burrowing his nose deep into the neckline of Andrew’s hoodie. Andrew had reacted appropriately by tugging the hood over Neil’s head, pulling at the string until Neil’s face was no longer visible, so he couldn’t see the tips of Andrew’s ears growing red.

Neil hops up onto the kitchen counter by Andrew, cat-like, no longer as clumsy on his feet. He sits on the edge in his stolen clothes, swinging his bare feet back and forth. Andrew wants to step between his knees and press their mouths together until Neil’s lips are kiss-swollen and shiny with spit. He wants Neil so badly that it feels like a physical pain in his chest. 

It’s becoming a bit of a problem.   

“Hand me a knife,” he says instead.

The pajama pants Neil stole are soft and worn. Andrew can feel the heat of Neil’s skin underneath, the shift of his muscles as he stretches for the cutting block at the edge of the counter. Andrew’s eyes catch on the hint of collarbone visible where Neil’s shirt slopes. He swallows.

Neil lets out a triumphant little sound as he grabs the knife and hands it to Andrew, shimmying in his seat in what Andrew knows is quiet pleasure at seeing Andrew pluck two Granny Smith apples from Renee’s tote bag. 

Through lots of trial and error and farmer’s market visits, they’ve figured out that Neil’s fruit preferences lean towards the tart side, favoring Granny Smith apples over the sweeter Fuji or Honey Crisp. Neil doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth; yet another way he and Andrew balance each other out. 

Andrew busies himself peeling the apples, delicately cutting them into symmetrical slices. Fresh, crisp tang immediately fills the kitchen. He’s prepared so many apples for Neil by this point, his hands move on autopilot. 

It’s easy like this, with Neil. Soft and ritualistic, as most things with Neil are. 

Hard to believe that saving a strange merman from getting beaten to a pulp on a random rainy day has led to one of the best constants in Andrew’s life. 

When Andrew finishes with the first apple, he dumps the slices into Neil’s bowl, soft blue ceramic, the color of Neil’s tail, specially crafted for him by Renee at her latest pottery class.

Neil lets out a happy hum and balances the bowl on his lap, leaning closer to Andrew, his thigh pressed against Andrew’s hip. “Open.”

Andrew doesn’t look up, hands busy with the second apple and brain occupied with the feeling of Neil’s warm body against his. “Open what.”

“Open your mouth.”

Confused, Andrew tilts his head to the side, and Neil takes this opportunity to lurch forward and shove an apple slice into Andrew’s mouth, effectively capturing Andrew’s attention. Andrew’s head snaps up as Neil smiles sheepishly. 

“I wanted you to have the first slice.” A stray curl falls over his ridiculous eyes.  

Andrew thinks of shoving an apple slice into Neil’s mouth in retaliation. Thinks of shoving their mouths together instead. 

He attempts his best unamused expression. It clearly doesn’t have the intended effect because Neil simply grins, his smile curving his eyes into crescents as he wipes the corner of Andrew’s mouth with a thumb. 

Andrew’s eyes widen, and it unfortunately provides him with a front row seat to Neil sticking his thumb into his mouth, sucking off the juice he wiped from Andrew’s lips. Neil removes it with a small pop, licking up the last bit from between his thumb and forefinger, and it’s obscene. It’s going to live in Andrew’s mind for the rest of his goddamn life. 

Heat curls up in Andrew’s gut, makes all the soft, quiet parts of him ache with fondness, and he forces his attention back to the cutting board, focusing on methodically chewing the apple slice in his mouth. He makes sure to pluck off all the seeds in the second apple, peeling the skin until there’s no green left because Neil doesn’t like it. 

Still, Andrew easily complies when Neil says, “Open,” again, reaching over to feed him another piece, before taking a bite of his own.

When the second apple is fully sliced and placed into Andrew’s own ceramic bowl, Neil does the same thing. One slice for him, one for Andrew, over and over. 

Neil smiles every time Andrew accepts a slice from his hands. It’s a small, pleased quirk of the lips, the sort of thing that happens at the little pleasures in life—sharing apples in matching homemade ceramic bowls, under the warm lighting of Andrew’s tiny kitchen.

It somehow feels more intimate than anything else he’s ever done with Neil, and its magnitude nearly knocks Andrew off his feet. 

Andrew is this far gone for Neil and he isn’t even Neil’s mate yet. Pathetic.

Neil notices the furrow of Andrew’s brow, leans forward to press a quick kiss against the side of his mouth. “What’s wrong?” 

Andrew shakes his head, gives in to the impulse to step between Neil’s legs. Neil laughs and wraps his legs around Andrew’s waist, locking his ankles together behind Andrew’s back. This is one of the things Andrew likes most about Neil’s human form: the way Neil can wrap all his limbs around Andrew like a koala. 

When it’s time for bed, Neil immediately burrows under the covers while Andrew sets an alarm, early enough so he can bring Neil back to the beach before opening his gallery. 

Settled, Neil curls around him, and Andrew’s arm automatically comes down from behind his head to curl around Neil’s back, his palm finding the slope of Neil’s waist. 

The way they’ve come to know each other’s bodies, how to move around and touch one another, always floors Andrew. They’ve worked for this, they both have—Neil with his wariness and mistrust of humans, and Andrew with his impassive face and his history. 

“Are you happy?” Neil suddenly asks, lips pressed against Andrew’s collarbone. 

Andrew pauses, thrown off, and is stunned to realize that he doesn’t even need to think about it. The answer is a resounding yes. Andrew feels whole and confident, happy in a way he can’t ever remember feeling before. Young Andrew Doe never would have seen this coming. 

His mouth still tastes like the tart apples Neil had pressed against his lips, he’s in a soft, comfortable bed with Neil’s thighs tucked between his, and for the first time he can remember, he feels like there’s a future to look forward to. 

He drags his fingers through Neil’s hair, gentle against the soft curls and delicate fuzz at the nape of Neil’s neck, and says, “Yes.”

“Good. Me too.” Neil sighs. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Andrew’s heart races, pleasure at the words making his fingertips tingle. 

Andrew wants to stay awake, wants to memorize the feel of Neil against him, his body so warm where Andrew runs cold. He wants to collect all the little pieces of Neil that he’s been given—he’s always been a little obsessive, prone to never letting little things go, a habit from years of foster care he’s never been able to shake—and hold tight to them.

Neil slowly drags a hand up and down Andrew’s chest, long fingers delicate along pale skin and the bit of fuzz on his sternum. Andrew’s eyes drift shut. 

He blinks drowsily as Neil mutters, “Good night, Andrew.”

Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s temple in response. He falls asleep to the feel of Neil’s tiny snores against his neck. 

*

Like always, Andrew brings Neil back to the beach the next morning. And like always, Neil transforms back into his merman form in Andrew’s car as Andrew ducks through the door, holding Neil in a bridal carry back towards the ocean.

The only difference is that now, instead of their goodbyes being a private affair, Kevin is always lurking in the distance.

He stays a ways away, bobbing far enough in the salty kiss of the currents that it gives Andrew and Neil some semblance of privacy, but it’s obvious that he’s watching their every move. 

Specifically, Andrew’s every move. 

It makes Andrew feel like a high schooler bringing his date back home after prom, while his date’s father glares disapprovingly through the window. Except the disapproving father in this situation is a merman with all the social graces of a junkyard dog.

Not that Andrew has ever been to prom, but he has unfortunately been subjected to Aaron and his high school sweetheart being nauseatingly cliche, and Nicky has forced him to watch enough rom-coms together in an attempt at bonding that Andrew can recognize the vibe.

Andrew carries Neil to the shore’s edge, wide palms underneath Neil’s slippery tail, while Neil noses along the crook of Andrew’s shoulder, pressing a tiny kiss along the curve. Andrew jolts. He’s ticklish there, and Neil knows it. He can’t see Neil’s grin, but he can feel it on his neck, mischievous and insatiable. 

There’s a tiny bit of movement in the distance. Kevin is mostly underwater in a shitty attempt at stealth, with only his eyes and the tips of his pointy ears sticking above the surface. He reminds Andrew of a shark in the water, but a harmless shark—only menacing in appearance—waiting for Andrew to do a single thing that he disapproves of so he can charge out of the water and thwack Andrew with his freakishly long tail.

Andrew wants to flip Kevin off, but he can’t do that with Neil in his arms, so he meets Kevin’s eyes as steadily as possible. 

Neil presses another kiss against Andrew’s neck, and in an act of defiance, Andrew turns his head so the kiss lands on his mouth instead. He makes a show of tonguing Neil on the beach, tugging Neil’s bottom lip into his mouth, only pulling back when Neil’s lips are kiss-swollen and bitten red. 

Andrew leans back, gets a good look at the dazed expression on Neil’s face, watches Neil’s pretty mouth move, only to hear him say, “Oh,” all kiss-stupid. He’s beautiful, blushing pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, almost glowing. 

When Andrew looks back, Kevin’s ears are twitching in irritation. If they were in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears, and there’d be a speech bubble full of expletives exploding over his head. 

Andrew supposes he understands Kevin. It’s clear they’re both protective of Neil, and that thought makes Andrew’s annoyance ebb slightly. He’s sure Neil will insist that he doesn’t need to be protected, that he can take care of himself, but Andrew wants to be that person anyway. 

Andrew ignores Kevin in favor of turning his attention back to the merman in his arms and hopes that his tongue down Neil’s throat made Kevin uncomfortable enough that he won’t return.

*

A few weeks later, the inevitable happens. 

The day starts the same as always. Andrew settles Neil down gently on the shore and watches, amused, as Neil's tail immediately starts thumping against the damp sand, eagerly awaiting Andrew’s goodbye kiss.

Neil looks ethereal in the morning sunlight, his sun-kissed skin dewy, little purpling bruises around his gills where Andrew had left hickeys on Neil’s human form. Andrew has matching bruises on his own neck; he can feel them aching pleasantly whenever he stretches. 

He squats down so he’s at eye-level with Neil, just out of reach, and Neil lets out a tiny huff, scooting closer to pull at the collar of Andrew’s shirt. 

“Hmmm?” Andrew hums, feigning nonchalance, and Neil frowns. His unfairly gorgeous eyes bounce around the entirety of Andrew’s face, meeting his gaze, then dropping down to his mouth and back again. “Use your words, Neil.” 

Neil’s nose crinkles up. It makes him look like a rabbit. Andrew finds it endlessly endearing. 

Sure, maybe all the teasing isn’t very nice, but neither is Andrew, and Neil seems to like him just fine. 

“You know what I want.” Neil pouts, his eyes big and round, puppy dog eyes that absolutely shouldn’t work on Andrew, except they always do.

He caves. 

His fingers skim through Neil’s hair, smooth and teasing, before he presses their lips together. Neil lets out a tiny purr, smiling into the kiss like he didn’t just weaponize a pouty face for his own benefit. 

They kiss, soft and sweet, little pecks over and over until Andrew pulls back, promising Neil that he’ll be back tonight after the gallery closes. Neil presses one last kiss against the tip of Andrew’s nose, a sweet hit-and-run of a peck, before diving back into the ocean.

When Neil is just a tiny speck in the distance, Andrew turns to leave and immediately finds himself on the ground, tripped over a giant, solid mass directly behind him. It’s only his quick reflexes that save him from face-planting. He winces as his palms hit the sand, his elbows locking to save him from starfishing. 

Right in front of him is Kevin, his tail purposely stretched to its full length to get in Andrew’s way. 

“What,” Andrew says, pushing up onto his knees. “The fuck.” 

Kevin stands his ground with an authoritative flick of his tail that would be more impressive if he weren’t wilting slightly under Andrew’s glare. Kevin scowls, brows drawn down and jaw set mulishly. He’s absolutely going to say something inflammatory that’ll force Andrew to punch him, so Andrew stands to leave before he decks Neil’s supposed best friend in the throat. Again.

When Kevin finally opens his god-awful mouth, what comes out is, “He really likes you. You better not hurt him.” 

And that…was not what Andrew was expecting. He blinks, surprised. Looks like Kevin has a spine after all. 

Andrew tilts his head in an attempt to aggravate Kevin even further. “You get that line from one of the sopping wet novels you found on the ocean floor?” 

It works. Kevin’s nostrils flare. He’s full-on scowling now, arms folded over his chest. “I’m serious.”

“What makes you think I’d hurt him?” 

“The last humans we were with gave him those scars.” 

And honestly, fuck Kevin. 

Anger rises in Andrew even higher before he can stop it. Anger at what Kevin is insinuating, that Andrew is just like them. That Andrew would willfully lay a hand on Neil with the intent to hurt, to harm. That Andrew would act like he owns Neil. That Andrew would lay claim without asking. 

Over the past few weeks, Andrew has slowly stopped giving a fuck about Kevin’s performative overprotectiveness. If it makes Kevin feel better about himself, then fine. He is of no significance to Andrew. 

But this. This, Andrew won’t allow. 

“Right,” Andrew says, voice hard and laced with venom, his face unyielding. “Because you did so much to protect him.”

Kevin rears back like he’s been slapped, his shoulders bunching up to his ears. Andrew stares straight at him, daring him to deny that statement.

Kevin opens his mouth, presses his lips together. His shoulders slump. “I know,” he says, resigned. Both he and Andrew go quiet, surprised at the candor. “I know I didn’t do enough back then. But I’m trying to do it now.”

Andrew lets Kevin’s words sink in, lets the acid in his veins calm a little. They both want the same thing for Neil, evident in the bone-deep sincerity in Kevin’s voice. 

And if Kevin’s care and devotion is puffing up his chest at any perceived threat, even when he’s scared out of his mind, Andrew’s is a myriad of small, caring actions, purposeful but hidden behind insults and impassivity.

Andrew is a tote bag full of Granny Smith apples from the local farmer’s market, carefully peeled and cut into perfect slices. A new t-shirt, soft and a size too big, because Neil doesn’t like feeling confined in his clothing. When Neil transforms into his human form in Andrew’s apartment, covered in dried salt and sand, it’s a warm bath with Andrew slipping behind Neil in the tub, holding Neil in the circle of his arms because Neil always wants Andrew’s touch. It’s Andrew pressing kisses against Neil’s gills, frequent and soft, because he likes the way it makes Neil flush. 

And because he’ll do anything he can to make Neil happy. 

When Andrew finally speaks, it’s clipped and cool, but he means every single word. “I would sooner kill myself before I ever hurt Neil.”

Andrew can tell by the look on Kevin’s face that he wasn’t expecting a response of this magnitude from Andrew. His eyes widen almost comically. He looks like a cartoon character. Kevin doesn’t say anything for a bit, instead choosing to study Andrew’s face. 

Finally, he nods. “Perhaps you will be a better mate for Neil than I thought.”

There it is again. Neil’s mate.

It sounds good, feels good—feels nice in a way where he’s pointedly reminded each time he hears it just how much he likes it.

But for now, he’s done with Kevin. 

“Now fuck off,” Andrew says, turning to leave. 

Kevin has the audacity to smirk, and Andrew regrets not punching him in the throat a second time. 

“I’ll see you around, Andrew.”

Andrew responds eloquently with a middle finger. 

*

It’s a miserable day, weather-wise, a dark grey day with ominous clouds in dangerous shapes and occasional bursts of rain. But Andrew doesn’t mind, because he is with Neil. 

The weather reminds him of that fateful afternoon nearly a year ago, when the pouring rain led Andrew straight to Neil. 

Andrew is currently perched on their rock by the shore with little concern for his clothing, damp from the occasional drizzle and previous high tide. Despite the weather, he’d brought his sketchbook, because it could always clear up, and if all else failed, he could sketch the clouds and the stormy sea.

There’s no one else on the beach, not in this weather. There’s no Kevin either, at least not from what Andrew can see. Perhaps Kevin truly meant what he said, that Andrew would be good for Neil. 

Gaining Kevin’s trust and approval was never one of Andrew’s priorities. He couldn’t care less about Kevin’s opinions, but Andrew still feels a little pleased. If anything, he can now kiss Neil without prying eyes. 

Neil is spread out against the wet sand, his hands stretched above him, eyes closed as tiny raindrops land on his face, sticking to his long eyelashes, his tail flicking happily as the waves lap against his side. 

Sketching the sea turns into sketching Neil. Andrew has his sketchbook balanced on his lap, shielding the page from the sprinkle with a palm. Drawn in pencil is Neil’s side profile, his bright smile curving his eyes into half moons, the scarred stretch of his chest and torso, the curve of his tail, elegant and poised. 

Neil sits up to smile at him, against the backdrop of the beach that Andrew has come to think of as a second home, and the sky decides at the same time that that’s enough rain for the day, parting the clouds to show patches of blue. 

Sunlight spreads around them, and suddenly Neil is incandescent. Light itself is in love with Neil, and Andrew is hopelessly drawn in. 

Want is a foreign feeling to Andrew, but at this moment, it’s all he feels. He wants Neil, wants Neil to be happy. Safe and content. Wants to be the reason for it. 

Andrew’s dumbfounded fingers nearly drop his pencil as he openly stares at Neil, who immediately notices and shifts closer.

“What do I have to do?” Andrew asks, words falling out of his mouth before he can think.

Neil looks at Andrew, confused, eyes huge, his head tilted like a puppy while he tries to decipher whatever it is he’s not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“What do I have to do,” Andrew repeats, “to become your mate?”

Understanding clears Neil’s eyes—light and translucent all the way through.

“Oh, I don’t—Andrew—you don’t have to…” Neil trails off. His tone is neutral, a few steps removed from any sort of discernible emotion, but Andrew can see his face, can read the minute way his eyes dart to the side, the way his ears flatten against the side of his head. They know each other too well, committed each other to memory. 

“Neil.” 

Andrew has always maintained that he wants nothing. But he wants this. He really wants this. He’s wearing his heart out on his fucking sleeve. 

Neil keeps his eyes on Andrew, soaks in the laser focus of Andrew’s attention.

“Well, traditionally, the courting process lasts years…to ensure compatibility.” Neil pauses, shifts, worries at his bottom lip while he gauges Andrew’s reaction. Andrews waits patiently. “After a successful courtship, there’s a joining ceremony, where two merfolk swim to the deepest depths of the ocean and wrap their tails around each other in a symbol of union. The final step is to bite the mating gland on each other’s neck, a physical representation of a long-term commitment.”

Andrew hums. “What happens after?”

“We’ll be mates, we’ll be bonded for life,” Neil says quietly, almost a whisper. Andrew can barely hear it above the crashing waves. “It means I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine, and no one in the seven seas can take us apart.”

Andrew stares at Neil, watches as Neil shifts under the weight of his stare. 

“I am already yours,” Andrew says. States. It’s a fact. 

He doesn’t normally go this route, he prefers being as evasive and cryptic as possible, evident in the way Aaron and Nicky still struggle to understand him. But Neil has slowly taken Andrew’s defensive walls down, shaken him down to his foundations. 

“And I am yours,” Neil agrees, eyes crinkling at the thought before his face falls again. “Just not officially. Traditionally, the courting process lasts years, and—”

“Neil,” Andrew interrupts, and Neil’s ice blue eyes snap up to meet his once again. “I brought you home to heal in my bathtub the first day we met, and I did not even know you. Nothing about us is traditional.”

“I know. I just—I didn’t know if you…” Neil trails off, licks his lips, tries again. “If you would still want to be with me.”

Andrew blinks hard. 

Neil sucks his lower lip into his mouth, sharp teeth biting down and nearly drawing blood. “I thought maybe in a few months…in a few years, you might not want me anymore, that you’d rather be with a human. I wanted to give you time to leave, if you wanted to.”

“Neil.”

“Yeah?”

“You are an idiot.”

Neil’s cheeks go pink. He looks like he’s been outside in the cold for hours, even though he can regulate his own body temperature. “It’s just—there are so many humans out there.”

They’re back to this, apparently. Back to Andrew baring his soul and gifting Neil a direct line to the inner workings of his heart and his brain.

“There is no one for me but you.” 

It’s as direct as he can be without bursting the box of feelings about Neil he’s been trying to keep at bay wide open. The box that he’s only recently started acknowledging that he can never close. 

Neil looks gobsmacked, lips parted in surprise at the honesty of it. He looks so pretty, Andrew thinks about smacking his sketchbook over Neil’s head so he’ll stop looking at Andrew like that, like Andrew hung the moon and the stars.  

“I would like to be your mate,” Andrew continues with as much earnestness as he can muster. Neil’s eyes widen. “If you’d let me.”

They get even bigger after that.

Neil opens his mouth, blinks hard, closes his mouth. Opens his mouth again. His eyes go liquid, and he nods, determined. “I want you to be my mate. I want to be yours.”

Before Andrew can say anything, Neil shoots forward in a sudden burst of movement, practically scooting into Andrew’s lap. Warm lips drop kisses on his forehead and nose and eyes and cheeks, and Andrew can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips, even when the rock below digs painfully against his ass.

When their lips finally meet, Neil sighs, the tiniest little sound that ignites the already lingering heat low in Andrew’s belly. He swallows the noise, swiping his tongue along the seam of Neil’s lips, cradling Neil’s face in the palms of his hands, relishing how Neil’s mouth opens immediately for him. Andrew will never get enough. 

Pulling away makes Andrew’s fingers pulse in time with his heartbeat. He feels like a lovesick teenager. 

Neil reaches for Andrew, tangles their fingers together, squeezes once, tight. Andrew can feel the obsidian ring pressing an indent against his finger. It settles something in him that he didn’t realize needed settling until now. 

“So,” he murmurs when they part. “What next?”

Neil hums, touching his fingers to his kiss-swollen mouth before letting out a happy purr. 

“Well, first,” Neil says, his beautiful eyes determined. “We’ll need a witness.” 

*

“Me?” Kevin squawks, voice pitched louder than Andrew appreciates. His eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline. “You want me to be the witness to your joining?”

“Yep,” Neil says, popping the p with quiet delight while Andrew lounges on the sand beside them.

“But Andrew hates me.”

Andrew shrugs listlessly, a barely-there sort of motion. “You are Neil’s best friend.”

“Oh,” Kevin says dumbly, clearly expecting an insult to pass through Andrew’s lips. Kevin opens his mouth, closes it. Tries again. “We could be friends too, if you want.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Right,” Kevin winces before snapping back to attention. “Well, are we doing this now? You two have been like a bonded pair since the beginning anyway.”

A few minutes later finds Andrew in his swim trunks, hip-deep in the water, the sea mirroring the sky, clear and blue. He’s been in the ocean with Neil before, but this feels different—it is different. Neil is already watching him, eyes crinkled, his mouth curved all sweet and beautiful. 

“Ready?” Neil asks softly. 

Andrew swallows. “Yes.”

He lets Neil pull him out towards the waves, farther, farther, farther until his feet barely skim the sand below. His stomach flips when he takes a step and realizes there’s no solid ground beneath, but Neil catches him, wraps his arms around Andrew’s waist, and holds him up, buoying him.

And Andrew lets himself be led, pulled towards deeper waters, gives up all his robustly held control, and puts it into Neil’s hands.

They’re far enough from the shore that there seems to be nothing but vast nothingness below. As a human, Andrew can’t dive to the deepest depths of the ocean, not without drowning, not to mention the crushing pressure of the deep sea, so they simply bob along the surface. 

Kevin, to Andrew’s surprise, chooses to stay to the side, close enough to act as a witness, but far enough that Andrew barely senses his presence. It’s a choice that Andrew appreciates—he never expected Kevin to have this much tact.

Andrew swallows, can feel his wildly beating heart pounding against his ribcage as Neil shifts them carefully until Andrew no longer has to tread water, keeping Andrew afloat with his tail. 

Reality really hits Andrew then, runs him over like a freight train. 

Andrew stares at Neil, can’t believe that Neil, in all his beautiful glory, would want someone like him, someone slow and clumsy in the water, someone weighed down by four limbs and land-bound lungs.

Then Neil lifts a hand to rest on Andrew’s chest, splayed like wings over his heart, and Andrew knows without a single doubt that he’d never let anyone hurt Neil ever again, would fight and kill anyone or anything that tries to lay a finger on Neil, on land or in the sea. Andrew covers Neil’s hand with his own, intertwines their fingers, hopes this single gesture portrays all the thoughts he’s unable to put into words.

Neil grins at him, his teeth sharp and ears pointed up in glee, his sparkling eyes as blue as the ocean as he rests his forehead against Andrew’s. The tips of their noses press together. 

“Ready?” Neil whispers. 

“Yes,” Andrew murmurs, and he’s never been more sure of anything. 

Slowly, Neil wraps his tail around Andrew’s left leg, and instead of feeling restrained, Andrew simply feels supported, held. He hooks his right leg around Neil’s hip in a human attempt to follow merfolk tradition, and Neil’s eyes immediately go soft, liquid.

Neil tilts his head to the side, baring the ridged gills on his neck, the smooth turquoise scales—iridescent and breathtaking. This act itself already seems intimate, vulnerable. Presenting your softest spot, gifting your trust.

There’s a tiny patch of smooth skin just beneath Neil’s gills, unobstructed by scales. Andrew used to lave his tongue over it, revelled in how it would make Neil shiver and croon. Now, Andrew knows why. 

Neil’s anticipation vibrates against Andrew’s skin like a tidal wave, amplified by Andrew’s own want. Neil tilts his head further in invitation, and Andrew gravitates to that spot on Neil’s neck, his breath ghosting over Neil’s cheek. 

The slope of Neil’s neck fits perfectly in his mouth. Neil’s encouraging hum trails off into a gasp, eager as Andrew slowly traps the soft gland between his teeth. 

“Yes,” Neil whispers.

When Andrew bites down with pressure, his teeth sink into skin easily, leaving a mark of their bond that makes the slight blood on Andrew’s tongue taste sweet. Neil lets out a surprised little inhale, one of his hands flying to rest against Andrew’s nape, holding Andrew close. Warmth spreads through Andrew’s body to the very tips of his toes.

The bite mark on Neil’s neck is stark against the scales around his throat, it practically glows—a physical representation of Andrew’s oath of care and protection.  

Neil is beautiful and perfect and Andrew’s.

The second they meet each other’s eyes, Neil presses forward and rubs the entirety of his face against Andrew’s neck. The motion is so reassuring, so comfortable and soothing and familiar, that he almost doesn’t register Neil’s questioning hum against his pulse point.

“Yes,” Andrew murmurs. 

He feels Neil nuzzle along the muscle where neck meets shoulder, pressing the softest kiss against skin before the sharp prick of Neil’s teeth sinks into the steep slope of his trapezius.

Neil’s teeth don’t go very deep. Andrew barely registers the pain, but he still tilts his head back without thought, his grip on Neil going tighter as Neil laps at the wound with his tongue, soothing it. He can feel Neil’s satisfied little trill from where he’s tucked against him, the circle of his arms tight around Andrew.

Yes, this feels right. It feels like the easiest thing.

When Neil pulls back, his teeth are slightly tinged with blood, and his eyes are fully blown with joy. Kissing Neil is as easy as breathing, as easy as Neil’s hand against the curve of his throat, easy as the soft, muffled moan Neil makes when Andrew lightly drags his thumb from Neil’s gills down to the bite mark against his neck. 

Andrew wants to hear Neil make that sound again, wants to kiss Neil until he uses up all the oxygen in his lungs, wants to—

Kevin’s voice cuts through the haze. 

“I, uh…I now declare you mates?” They break apart, and Andrew whips around to see Kevin floating to the side, pointedly looking everywhere except at them. “Congratulations?” It’s punctuated with an awkward rub to the back of his neck. 

“Thank you,” Neil says, eyes never straying from Andrew. “You can go now, Kevin.”

“Uh-huh,” Kevin says and immediately ducks into the ocean and away.

Neil wipes a stray water droplet from Andrew’s cheek, tail still wrapped around Andrew’s leg. “You’re my mate now,” he says breathlessly, his voice filled with quiet delight.

You’re my mate now. And god, do those words do something to Andrew. Lands like an arrow, direct to the heart.

He’s overwhelmed by how much he feels, so he doesn’t answer, just pulls Neil into another kiss, warm and wet, and if Neil’s mouth tastes of saltwater and blood, well, Andrew is familiar with both.

Andrew holds on tight, hand making soothing strokes from Neil’s neck to hip, where Neil’s soft human skin catches onto the smooth scales of his tail with every pass.

Caught up in a happy daze, Neil presses a lingering kiss against the bite mark on Andrew’s neck. Their devotion, belonging, and intent made physical.

“Mine,” Neil breathes.

Andrew stays wrapped around his chosen mate and holds on. 

*

Andrew finds Neil on the beach with Kevin a few days later. 

The bite mark on Neil’s neck has already healed, and in its place is a scar, perfect imprints of Andrew’s teeth, a circle at two distinct points. 

The pinpricks on Andrew’s neck have scabbed up over the course of a few days, and when he runs his fingers over them, he can still feel Neil’s teeth sinking through his skin, the hot lave of his tongue.

Neil lights up the second he sees Andrew, his tail immediately going into overdrive, loud thwip thwip thwips that fling sand everywhere. 

Kevin, for all his posturing just a few weeks prior, shuffles awkwardly when he sees Andrew. He mumbles a quick goodbye to Neil before making his great escape. 

“Kevin,” Andrew says, and Kevin pauses, startling magnificently when Andrew looms over him. Andrew supposes he shouldn’t get used to looking down at Kevin like this. Kevin is absolutely taller than Andrew in his human form. 

Before Andrew can change his mind, he rummages through his bag and shoves something at Kevin. Kevin instinctively clutches the item against his chest to keep it from falling to the ground before holding it in front of him to inspect it. 

His eyes widen. “This is…” 

It’s a paperback version of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. All three hundred pages, including the front and back covers, have been fully laminated for durability and easy reading beneath the harsh ocean waves.

Neil scoots closer, curious, peeking over Kevin’s shoulder. His eyes widen as he threads his fingers through Andrew’s. “Did you do this yourself?”

Andrew shrugs, like he didn’t spend hours laminating this book as a thank-you gift for his mate’s friend, the witness to their joining. “There is a print shop downtown,” he says by way of explanation.

“I—thank you, Andrew,” Kevin says, still in awe. “I’ve never read this before. This is the first book I’ve ever owned. I’m going to keep it in good condition.”

“You better, you’re not getting any more.” 

Kevin nods fervently. “I’m going to read this right now. I have to show Jean!” He darts towards the shoreline, shouting another, “Thank you, Andrew!” over his shoulder before ducking underwater. 

“You already have another book for him, don’t you?” Neil teases as soon as Kevin disappears.

“He’ll only get it if he doesn’t annoy me.”

Neil laughs, bright and clear, his smile turning sly, clearly poking fun at Andrew for warming up to Kevin. “I’m going to tell Kevin you want to be his friend.” 

“I hate you,” Andrew says as he unfurls his beach towel, plopping down onto the sand.

“No, you don’t,” Neil says matter-of-factly, scooting so his body is pressed right up against Andrew’s. “You can’t hate me, we’re mates now.” He emphasizes this point by tracing delicate patterns over the sensitive skin of Andrew’s neck before pressing open-mouthed kisses against the scabbed-over bite. Andrew can’t stop the way it makes him full-body shudder.

Mates. Bonded for life.

It’s true, they’ve been acting like a bonded pair from the start, but having it be real is different. Hearing Neil say it out loud is different.

There’s no place Andrew would rather be. No one else he’d rather be with. He’ll stay with Neil for as long as he is able.

Andrew leans forward, cradles Neil’s face in his hands, and kisses his mate.